


Rat and Cat

by rthstewart



Series: Tales Of The Calormene Trickster [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Calormen, Gen, Goddesses, Golden Age (Narnia), Mythical Beings & Creatures, Trickster Gods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/pseuds/rthstewart
Summary: The Horse And His Boy And The Mare And Her Girl, the way it really happened.The first tale inTales Of The Calormene Trickster
Series: Tales Of The Calormene Trickster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086446
Comments: 23
Kudos: 36





	1. Introduction and Prologue

This tale has its origins in the femgenficathon in 2011 for the following prompt:

> My wish is to ride the tempest, tame the waves, kill the sharks. I will not resign myself to the usual lot of women who bow their heads and become concubines.

\- Trieu Thi Trinh (225-248), 3rd-century Vietnamese revolutionary who led a rebellion against Chinese invaders. Known as "the Vietnamese Joan of Arc."

The story I wrote, _Horse and Her Girl_ , was never posted on AO3. Since 2011, I played with various ideas begun in the original version of that short story -- Hwin returning to Narnia and becoming an Ambassador ( _Herd Mentality_ ), Bree joining the Army ( _Herd Mentality_ ), the activity of the Trickster as an important deity in the Calormene pantheon ( _Rat, Cat and Trickster_ , _That we may hear whispers of the gods_ , and _Flee From Memory_ ), the hostility of the Archenlanders to Aravis as Cor’s Queen to be ( _That we may hear whispers of the gods_ ), and that Aravis and Cor are both gender non-conforming ( _That we may hear whispers of the gods_ ).

These all are part of a collection I’ve always wanted to do. I dusted it off and tried again in NaNoWriMo November 2020. 

So, let’s put this together.

This is _Rat and Cat_ , now Story 1 of the _Tales of the Calormene Trickster_. Story 2, _Flee From Memory_ , addresses the aftermath of the Siege of Archenland. (Caution that chapter 3 of that story is a darker look at Tumnus’s bitter point of view, Aslan’s manipulation of memory, and a world where, ultimately, Lucy and Edmund are ripped from their spouses and children. Skip that chapter if you wish -- it’s pretty unpopular and I’ve gotten a lot of nasty about it over the years.) Story 3, _One Step Back, Two Steps Forward_ is taken partly from the earlier story never posted here. Story 4 is _That we may hear whispers of the gods_. The concluding, Story 5, is a work in progress.

The beginning prologue relies heavily upon Rat, Cat and Trickster. It's all new content after that. In parts, there is heavily reliance on dialogue from _The Horse And His Boy._

_**Please note content warning posted before Chapter 3 for canon-compliant, failed attempt at self harm and death by suicide. In The Horse and His Boy, Aravis attempts to kill herself rather than marry Ahoshta Tarkaan. Hwin intervenes.**   
_

* * *

Prologue Year 4 of Pevensie Rule (give or take)

Because it so puts my brother's beak out of joint, sometimes I help Aslan. Not that he really needs it of course. But, Calormen is my country, not his, and the people, especially the slaves and peasants, certainly know me better than they know him. Besides, the Lion of Narnia appreciates a good joke, he does.

It was like this. One night I was banging around away south. My people are weak here and don't have anything, which means I'm strong, if you follow, because faith in the Trickster is the only thing they do have. A slave who leaves a bread crumb has far more power here than some great Tarkaan lord giving me a plate of gold. Not that the Tarkaan would. He gives all his gold to my big brother, Tash.

So, the Tarkaans mock me, and when they don't give me my due, and when they abuse the people who worship me, well, I'm not above a bit of fun, or pain, or both, at the expense of the great and powerful. And that's really what this story is all about.

It was late and I was hopping fence to fence, chasing away the foxes and collecting the offerings my people leave – the shriveled root, the kernel, the flower. For these folk, my folk, what they give, I return to them, three-fold, as the saying goes. So, the shriveled root becomes a whole onion, a kernel becomes an ear of corn or a sheaf of wheat, the flower turns to a cup of honey. The hen will lay another egg, the goat gives sweeter milk, and the bread rises a little more in the pan. I don't ask for much. My people don't have much and what I give in return eases their hard lives, just a little.

So, my offerings collected and blessings dispensed, I was sitting on the fence, wondering if I should go bother the dreams of a fisherman I don't like. He never gives me so much as a fish head.

When, speaking of fish and what the cat dragged in, who should drop out of a tree but the Lion of the North. He wasn't a lion down here. He was a cat. A really large cat. Which was still a problem since I was a rat at the moment.

"Hullo, Aslan."

"Trickster."

It's really odd hearing him talk all deep and formal when he's not a lion.

I edged away from the cat and jumped on to the hindquarters of a donkey who had sidled up to the fence. With a nudge from me, the jenny lazily swatted her tail in the direction of the cat. I scratched her withers in return.

Aslan wanted me to ask him why he was here. I wasn't going to. There was only one reason why he would be here, so far from his own lands and the creatures who worshiped him.

I kept scratching the jenny. The cat flicked away a fly – and it wasn't even one I sent.

Except he did something different.

"Would you like to hear about a joke?"

Oh he knows how to get my attention, that clever cat.

"What's in it for me?"

"A role in playing the joke."

"Who is being pranked?"

"The Tisroc. One of his sons. Other powerful Tarkaans."

I couldn't help it. My whiskers twitched. That lion is such a bastard. Any prank on the Tisroc, his sons, and their great Lords always pisses off Tash. Which just makes me do it more. Aslan knows this.

He knew just how to play me.

"Tell me the joke."

So the Lion told me a tale. He said there was a great King in the North whose money and infant son had been stolen by one Lord, only to be stolen away by another Lord. The Prince was raised in southern Calormen as a poor servant never knowing who he was. One day, the Prince stole a great Tarkaan Lord's horse, who was really a Talking Horse of Narnia. (I loved that part). They decide to flee to Narnia. Then a young Tarkheena promised to another great Tarkaan Lord, she finds a Talking Horse of Narnia, too, and gives everyone the slip and meets up with the Prince who doesn't know he's a Prince and looks like a slave.

It gets even more complicated once they get to Tashbaan and I could tell Aslan hadn't thought through this part of his joke yet. There's a really angry Calormene Prince (Aslan didn't say who, but I could guess and it really sweetened the story for me, that's for sure). The Calormene Prince wants to marry a Queen of the North, but she's not interested. Somehow, the stolen Northern Prince who doesn’t know he’s a Prince and the Tarkheena have to escape with information that the Tarkaan Lord is going to secretly invade the Northern lands. They raise the alarm and there's a big battle.

I don't care much about battles so I stopped paying attention. My people are always fodder in war and they always lose the few things they do have. Besides, war is boring and loud and really I admire the clever ones who get out of a scrape without killing or burning anything.

But the rest of the story, well, frankly, I couldn’t see the lion pulling it all off, especially with all those tricks and disguises, and plots and chance meetings. And in Calormen, too. I could see why he’d come to me. It’s more fun when two play, and the Lion of Narnia has a sense of humour. So, he can set the goal and let me take care of the details. It's why I like him.

Except when he eats me. That hurts.

And, pranking the Tisroc, his sons, and the Great Lords? Colour me entertained.

"I'm in," I told Aslan, just as he was explaining more about the politics of his Northern lands. _Boring._ "But, three conditions."

The cat growled. He doesn't like it when others dictate terms. The jenny, at my urging, took a step further away. I didn't want to get eaten. Again.

“First, with all these horses, I’m going to need sister Atanta’s help.”

“That is well thought, rat. Talking Horses are Epona’s special charge.”

Sister Atanta only wanted horses calling her _Epona_ , not Aslan. She also got really tetchy with carnivores and their avatars. In Calormen, Atanta had special charge over agriculture, harvest, weather, and horses. She’d be happy to help two horses escape Calormene slavery.

"Second, I claim the Tarkheena as my own.” I knew I’d actually get both the Prince and the Tarkeheena. A Northern boy, poor and marooned in southern Calormen, would look to me, regardless, for all his life. To get North, they’d need me and that meant I got them. “And I get to have some fun with her and your Northern Prince."

"Fun?" the cat repeated. It's odd hearing sarcasm from a cat's mouth.

"I know you're going to have them get married and rule wisely and well and all that. But before they do, to get them there, I want to do something fun with them. Make them earn it again. Send them off on a mad adventure before they get too old and boring and married." Something with bandits and kidnappings and mistaken identities and more disguises. Really, I just love disguises. There would be wild misunderstandings, too. The sorts of things humans could resolve in a minute if they ever talked properly to one another. Which they never, ever do.

"I will entertain the proposal of an adventure," the Lion agreed.

Fair enough. He was going to a lot of trouble for this caper. He didn't want me to upstage that. We'd work it out when the time was right.

"As for you claiming the Tarkheena, would she not look to Azaroth before you?”

“Don’t instruct me on my own family, Aslan. I’ll take care of Big Sister.” Mother Azaroth, as the Calormene called her, was the patron of learned arts and science, women, and infinite possibility. She was very canny, the brains of all of us -- except me, of course.

“If not to Azaroth, then the Tarkheena will give her allegiance to me, first,” Aslan replied.

I rolled my beady rat eyes at the cat. Aslan was thinking this was a family squabble but I knew Azaroth would be keen to see a Tarkheena on a Northern throne. And there was no way this could happen in Tashbaan without her help. We just had to keep baby sister Zardeenah out of it. "Fine. But she's a Calormene, and always will be, Cat. It will always be in her blood and heart.”

Aslan could say it all he wanted but it didn't matter. Whether he agreed or not, you could put a Tarkheena in the North, but you'd never get the Tarkheena out of her. Not completely. And why would you want to?

"Very well, Trickster. I agree to your modest terms. What is your third?"

"The Calormene hothead Prince? I want some role in the punishment you give him."

It's pretty funny when a cat looks gobsmacked.

The jenny turned and looked at me so I scratched her back again, an idea already forming. Aslan would agree to this condition. He knows I’m a lot more creative than he is when it comes to public humiliation.

"I agree," the cat said.

We weren't going to shake on it. I didn't want to get that close to him.

To business. The best pranks required a lot of planning.

"So when do we start? You need to get the infant down here. When's he coming?"

"Tomorrow. I will bring him here, to the beach, by boat," the cat said.

Come to think of it, there was a story in Calormen about a great Prince stolen away as an infant, hidden in river reeds, and raised by barbarian wolves in the North. This was a funny retelling of that old fable.

"So who is going to find him and raise the boy?"

"The fisherman, Arsheesh."

I stared at the cat. He stared back and I heard a threatening growl. I didn't care. He was crazy and I was angry.

"My brother's feathered balls! You vicious, stupid fleabag! You can't just dump an infant with Arsheesh!"

The cat's growl got louder.

"Arsheesh is awful. He's mean, he drinks too much, and he'll work the boy to death. He's the worst sort of human, Aslan. You don't want him there. Pick someone else."

The cat flicked his tail irritably. "But if the boy is happy, he will not run away."

_Oh. Right_.

Still, the cat was just being stubborn and stupid. I didn't like Arsheesh since he withheld what was due me, but even so, Aslan didn't know the man the way I did.

"Aslan, I know you don't deal with humans much. They aren't like your Trees and other Narnians." Some of his folk didn't raise their offspring at all. Most of Aslan's Beasts were only with their parents for a season, or maybe a few years. "I know other people who would give a child a proper home. When the time comes, we can work something out to get the boy to leave." Prophetic dream, maybe. We were both good at those.

"It is Arsheesh," Aslan said, and there was no arguing with him. Stupid cat. He'd just eat me and then do it all on his own, and it might work, but it would be a giant cock up, some of my people would probably get hurt, and I'd miss out on the pranking and would probably have to come in and clean up the mess anyway.

"Fine," I muttered. Really, sometimes I wondered if the Calormenes were right in calling Aslan a demon fiend. This was cruel.

I would watch out for the boy; I could mete out punishment and misfortune on Arsheesh when he was too harsh – but not so much for him to think the boy bore a curse.

I admit a lot of the fun of this prank had disappeared. I know what vicious humans would do to those who were weak and small. So maybe the Prince had good blood from kind people, but a cruel master could turn the sweetest person sour and mean. That wasn't the sort of thing a lion would think of – how what you knew when you were young could taint you later. He'd want a good King for his Northern land, not a tyrant who had learned to enjoy pain and suffering because he'd suffered it at the hand of a brutal Calormene fisherman.

This meant I had to stay involved. The baby Prince would need my aid.

I started ticking off on my paws what would need to be done as Aslan, curse him, had figured I would. They would need a goat for milk and there was a good girl across the field I was fond of. She'd been the passing whim of a Tarkaan, left behind with a child to tend, and would gladly share her breast to an orphaned babe.

"Are we concluded?" Aslan asked.

If I had shoulders, I would have shrugged. "Yes." I had a long night and day of work ahead of me. Really, just dumping an infant in a fisherman's cot was mad. Arsheesh would try to pass off the child first, too, which meant I'd have to get the good people who want to help to go against their nature and refuse. That would be hard.

I gave the jenny another scratch. "I'll have Arsheesh down at the beach tomorrow evening."

The man slept like the dead. I'd probably need biting flies, mice chewing on his hair, and scratching fleas. Torturing Arsheesh made me feel better. "You'll help me, darling?" I asked the jenny.

The donkey huffed her agreement. She would plant herself at Arsheesh's hut and bray all night for another scratch on the withers.

"Thank you," Aslan said. And he meant it. I still felt bitter about it, though.

"Does this mean you won't eat me?" I asked.

The cat jumped back up onto a high branch of the overhanging tree. It was the sort of leap no other cat could have made save the Lion.

"Not this time, Trickster."


	2. How I Got Shasta Started On His Travels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like Shasta a lot. But that Horse is an ass.

_Ten years later, give or take, Year 14 of House of Pevensie Rule_

“That’s him, sister. Will you help?”

“I’ve watched this one a long time, brother. He’s a stuffy bore. Arrogant. He deserves this cruel master.”

“I told Aslan ten years ago I’d help him with the prank. It’s time to get it started.”

“Perhaps you are not my Tricky brother, but my slow, dim-witted brother, if you haven’t learned after all this time how to escape the lion’s jaws.” Atanta shook her mane -- she was in horse form that evening. “Your bargain with Aslan does not concern me.”

“That Talking Mare you like so much will need that one to escape.” I pointed down at Bree munching his oats. “And as tiresome as that stallion is, getting him out of that Tarkaan’s slavery surely appeals to your sense of justice.”

Atanta stomped her hoof, fortunately not on me. “He’s learned too much from men.”

“If I asked, Aslan would help with that. The lion could scare that fool right out of his horseshoes.”

We both stared down at Bree for a while, swishing his tail and acting superior to the dumb horses around him. Atanta hated that word _dumb_ and usually wasn’t interested in helping out those who arrogantly looked down their noses at those in her charge. Which was why she was really interested in that talking mare. That mare was the leverage I needed to use, not Bree. “Hwin and her human will need him.”

“I do have plans for Hwin,” Atanta replied after a time. She blew out a sigh. “Very well. I shall aid you, brother.”

* * *

Bree couldn’t put his hoof on it, but something was just off. Nothing seemed quite normal. He had seen a large rat in the stables late last night that hadn’t smelled like a rat. He’d even tried speaking to him, hoping that maybe he was a Talking Rat but all he’d done was startle the dumb horses in the barn. And then there was the mare in the pasture as they had ridden out of the estate that morning. He’d never seen, heard, or smelled her before and she hadn’t been in the stable last night. She’d followed them along the fence that lined the lane that led to the main road and when he’d turned to look more closely, Anradin had given him a jab in the sides for his inattention and jerked his head about. He wasn’t sure that Anradin had even seen the mare.

And then, as soon as they swung onto the road, clean and smooth, one they’d traveled a dozen times before, he’d picked up a stone in his hoof. That never happened. As any good war horse would, he, of course, ignored it. But by the late afternoon, he could feel it had wedged deeply into the frog and, embarrassingly, he started limping.

Anradin was a wretch but he did take good care of him and immediately pulled up.

“Ah, Cesur, what is troubling you?”

_I’d tell you but you’d think you were mad and would cut my head off. And it’s not as if I can talk with this infernal bit between my teeth._

It did feel better when Anradin slid off. Bree lifted his left fore leg and shuddered as Anradin bent over and probed the inside of his hoof with a knife.

“”You’ve picked up a stone, Cesur. It looks tender. How long have you been carrying that?”

Bree, of course, said nothing. He was grateful enough when Anradin popped the stone out to rub his head on the man’s shoulder.

Anradin rubbed his scented beard and looked about. “We are still several hours from the home of Akbatun. But as the poets say, the mark of a wise man is not to rail against the gods in misfortune but to take the opportunity it presents.”

_And if I’m lame, we’ll never make it to Tashbaan._

Anradin took him by the rein. “Come. We shall stop for the day and tomorrow your hoof should be fine. Let us take food and lodging for the night.”

_Take._ Anradin would always take.

Their string of ill luck, by the Lion’s mane, persisted. Anradin took them to a well-tended path that wound up to the villa of the local governor. Bree would have liked to stay there for the night -- the hay was excellent and there was a groom who really knew how to get at all the itchy bits. But as soon as they left the road and turned inland, they were set upon by a swarm of biting flies, worse than anything he’d ever experienced, even in the campaign last year against the rebels who had hidden in the marshes. Anradin, swore and stomped and waved his arms. Bree kept shuddering and biting and _oh how it hurt!_

He was very nearly going to forget all his training and the painful hoof and gallop back to the safety of the road, when Anradin swore, “By Tash’s bolt!” and turned him around. “Steady, Cesar. The gods are not in this place.”

They jogged together back to the road and the flies immediately subsided. “The gods will otherwise,” Anradin muttered. After looking about, the Tarkaan led him in the other direction, into a village on the seashore. This path from the road was smooth and felt much better on his hoof and there were no flies at all. But Anradin was sniffing and grumbling about rude peasants and stinking fisherman.

Anradin stopped at the first squalid hut that had a roof. “You there!” Anradin called. “I shall take lodging and food for myself and my horse and the gods shall reward you with more than our presence.”

A man came running out, dragging a boy behind him and they both bowed so low before Anradin, their noses nearly dragged on the ground.

Bree pricked an ear as the pair rose. _Interesting._

The man was obviously southern Calormene and unremarkable. But the boy was very different. He was as blonde and fair as any from the North. A strange scent seemed to flow about him. It reminded Bree of endless meadows of sweet grass, cool water, and snow on a distant mountain. _How did you end up here, little foal? Kidnapped as I was?_

Regardless, the lodging for the evening was very shoddy. The fisherman and the boy rushed about but there wasn’t much point to it. He could hear Anradin complaining about the food, the wine, and the company. Bree felt much the same way about the hay and the donkey.

After the men had eaten some and drunk more, he overheard Anradin’s plotting to buy the boy, poor colt. The talk was more interesting than he expected, so, using his teeth, he loosened the rope that tied him to the barn wall and began pretending to eat the scrubby, salty grass closer to the hut.

Anradin had observed what Bree had also seen. “Do not load your aged mouth with falsehoods,” Anradin spat out at the fisherman. “This boy is manifestly no son of yours, for your cheek is as dark as mine but the boy is fair and white like the accursed but beautiful barbarians who inhabit the remote north."

The fisherman babbled and Bree ignored it until he said, “But in that same year in which the Tisroc (may he live forever) began his august and beneficent reign, on a night when the moon was at her full, it pleased the gods to deprive me of my sleep. Therefore I arose from my bed in this hovel and went forth to the beach to refresh myself with looking upon the water and the moon and breathing the cool air. And presently I heard a noise as of oars coming to me across the water and then, as it were, a weak cry. And shortly after, the tide brought to the land a little boat in which there was nothing but a man lean with extreme hunger and thirst who seemed to have died but a few moments before (for he was still warm), and an empty water skin, and a child, still living. 'Doubtless,' said I, 'these unfortunates have escaped from the wreck of a great ship, but by the admirable designs of the gods, the elder has starved himself to keep the child alive and has perished in sight of land.’”

A Narnian shipwreck? Some catastrophe out of Archenland? Bree had never heard of such a thing. But, plainly, the boy was as Northern as he himself was and they were both exiled slaves. Bree felt something push at him and he felt his ears moving as he concentrated and tried to sort through the complex idea. The boy would certainly be sold to Anradin. He didn’t belong here, no more than Bree himself did.

_Would it work? Could it work?_

_It might._

_But I need the boy._

Bree moved back closer to the stable wall to make it appear that he had never left. The colt came around from the other side of the hut and wandered over to where he was, still pretending to eat the terrible-tasting grass.

"I wonder what sort of a man that Tarkaan is," the colt said. "It would be splendid if he was kind. Some of the slaves in a great lord's house have next to nothing to do.”

The colt had overheard the fisherman’s plan to sell him. Bree knew it was uncomfortable to hear this sort of talk, such as when Anradin entertained offers to sell him. It made you feel low and worthless.

The boy didn’t seem bothered, though, which likely was evidence of just how bad things must be here in the fisherman’s hut. He also had serious delusions about what life in Tarkaan Anradin’s household would be -- and the violent death that would surely follow.

The colt prattled on. “The slaves get to wear lovely clothes and eat meat every day. Perhaps he'd take me to the wars and I'd save his life in a battle and then he'd set me free and adopt me as his son and give me a palace and a chariot and a suit of armour. But then he might be a horrid, cruel man. He might send me to work on the fields in chains. I wish I knew. How can I know? I bet this horse knows, if only he could tell me."

Well that opening was as plain as the Lion.

Bree lifted his head as the boy said, "I wish you could talk, old fellow."

Very low, so they wouldn’t be overheard, Bree whispered, "But I can." It was embarrassing how rough his voice sounded. He’d not talked properly in _so long._ “And I’m not old.”

“Trickster’s tail!” The boy was nearly shouting in his surprise and moved his hands in a warding gesture. “How ever did _you_ learn to talk?"

Bree shoved him with his head and said in his ear, "Hush! Not so loud. Where I come from, nearly all the animals talk."

"Where is that?"

"Narnia. The happy land of Narnia” Bree tried to not dwell on the loss because it made him so downcast. And yet, inhaling, he did feel something of the North clinging to the boy. _Sweet, beautiful Narnia._ “An hour's life there is better than a thousand years in Calormen."

"How did you get here?" The boy, showing he could learn, spoke more quietly.

"Kidnapped. Or stolen, or captured—whichever you like to call it.” _Perhaps just as you have been._ “I was only a foal at the time. My mother warned me not to range the southern slopes into Archenland, but I didn’t heed her. And by the Lion's Mane I have paid for my folly. All these years I have been a slave to humans, hiding my true nature and pretending to be dumb and witless like _their_ horses."

He had to swish his tail violently as a really big, biting fly landed right in the worst possible spot in the middle of his back. _Oh it was maddening._

“Would you?”

The boy flicked it away. He was definitely trainable. "Why didn't you tell them who you were?"

"Not such a fool, that's why. If they'd once found out I could talk they would have made a show of me at fairs and guarded me more carefully than ever. My last chance of escape would have been gone."

"And why…” Trainable, but he needed to learn to talk less.

"Now look, we mustn't waste time on idle questions. You want to know about my master, the Tarkaan Anradin. Well, he's bad. Not too bad to me, for a war horse costs too much to be treated very badly. But you'd better be lying dead tonight than go to be a human slave in his house tomorrow." It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much.

"Then I'd better run away," the boy said, neatly setting up the plan without Bree even having to suggest it.

"Yes, you had. But why not run away with me? Together?"

"You are going to run away, too?”

"Yes, if you'll come with me. This is the chance for both of us.”

This could work. He’d never had a real opening before but with a fellow escapee, they might be able to manage it. _North._ He knew the roads from here to Tashbaan. The desert would be hard, but they could manage it, at night maybe. They could do this.

“I could never escape without a rider because anyone who sees me would say 'Stray horse' and be after me as quick as they can. With a rider I've a chance to get through. That's where you come in. And you need me because you would never get far with only those two silly legs of yours.”

“Arsheesh would catch me. Beat me.”

The boy probably knew the lash more than Bree himself did.

“Yes,” Bree replied. “”But riding me, we’ll both be able to escape and I can outrun any other horse in this country.” He wasn’t boasting. It was true. So, therefore, it couldn’t be boasting. He felt that pesky fly return and buzz between his ears. He shook his head. “By the way, I suppose you know how to ride?"

"Oh yes, of course. I've ridden the donkey."

"Ridden the _what_?”

_Oh by the Lion’s mane!_

“In other words, you _can't_ ride. So I’ll have to teach you as we go along. Can you at least fall?”

"I suppose anyone can fall."

"I mean can you fall and get up again without crying and mount again and fall again and yet not be afraid of falling?"

Bree regretted his rough words; the boy was just a colt, and frightened, as he stammered, “"I—I'll try."

He couldn’t be so harsh that he frightened the colt into not coming along.

"Poor little beast.” He rubbed the boy’s front with his nose. "You're only a foal. We'll make a fine rider of you in time. Now, we mustn't start until those two are asleep. In the meantime we can make our plans. My Tarkaan is on his way north, to Tashbaan, and the Tisroc’s court…”

"I say," the foal interrupted. “Oughtn't you to say ‘May he live forever’?"

Bree snorted. "Why? I'm a free Narnian. That’s slaves' and fools' talk. I don't want him to live forever, and he’s not going to not matter what I want. And you’re from the free North too, so no more of this kind of talk between you and me. Now, as I was saying, my human was on his way north to Tashbaan."

"Does that mean we'd better go to the south?"

"No, that’s what one of his dumb and witless horses would do, head back home.”

He had to stamp his hooves several times and shudder all over to get rid of the fly that appeared again. _Persistent, stupid thing._

The boy moved his hand across his back and swatted it away.

“So, he’ll think I’m going south, and he’ll never dream of my going on north on my own. And anyway he will probably think that someone in the last village who saw him ride through has followed us to here and stolen me."

“More likely, he’ll think I stole you, since I’ll be gone, too.”

“Yes,” Bree said. “If we’re caught, well, that would be bad.”

“You’ll just go back into slavery. I”ll probably be boiled alive, or hung, or they’ll cut off my hands and tongue.”

“Yes.” He didn’t want to scare off the foal. He needed him. But they couldn’t start this escape lying to one another and the colt was correct. He would probably die or be mutilated if they were caught.

The colt shook himself. “It doesn’t matter. I’m dead if I stay. If we go, at least we both have a chance. I've been longing to go to the north all my life."

Bree felt a sliver of hope not experienced in years. This was real bravery. Also, noise.

"Of course you have," Bree whispered. "That's because of the blood that's in you. I'm sure you're true northern stock.” He could see the foal straighten and look prouder, and a little taller. It was probably the kindest thing he’d ever heard in his life. “But don’t be so loud. I should think they'd be asleep soon now."

"I'd better creep back and see."

"That's a good idea. But take care you're not caught. If they are asleep, be sure to bring back my tack and Anradin’s saddle bag. We’ll need those supplies.”

“They’ll know I took them.”

“Yes.”

Bree could see the colt weigh this. Then, he nodded and scampered off, muttering something about being as tricky as a rat.

If caught, the colt would surely die for the crime. The colt knew it as surely as Bree himself did.

Bree blew out and stomped a foot even though no fly was bothering him. _Well, I just have to make sure that doesn’t happen._

* * *

I heard Shasta’s prayer, asking for my cunning and stealth to take from the rich what was denied to the poor.

I made sure both men, wine-drunk and stupid, slept for a very long time. Shasta and the horse were leagues away before Anradin and Arsheesh woke. With his slave, horse, and money gone, Anradin became the demon Arsheesh was. He wasn’t gentle about it. He was swift -- swifter than I would have been.

Arsheesh got what was coming to him. He never gave me my due and no other god would pity him. No one would come to pray over his hacked up body. When the smell and flies got too bad, the villagers would take whatever remained of Arsheesh’s belongings and burn the hut and the corpse within it.

To make Atanta happy, and it pleased me as well, I made sure the donkey found her way to a good home.

As for Anradin, well, he still held the favour of big brother Tash, so I didn’t do anything but send a few more flies to bother him as he stormed back on to the road and to the local governor’s villa. His time would come later, I thought, when he was far from where his god-protector was strong And, maybe not death. Death was too easy for these proud, cruel people who hurt those under my protection. There were things that hurt far more death because you were alive to experience them.


	3. The Wayside Adventure With Aravis And Hwin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like Hwin a lot. Aravis is an ass.

_**Content warning for canon compliant unsuccessful attempt at death by suicide.** _

* * *

Something had been going on on the last day in the house of the Lord of Calavar, Kidrash Tarkaan, son of Rishti Tarkaan, son of Kidrash Tarkaan, son of Ilsombreh Tisroc, son of … _oh bother that…_

Hwin dawdled at the edge of her paddock, noting who came and went into the house. An important messenger had arrived yesterday morning. Unfortunately, his mount, a fleet but dumb horse, could not tell her where he had been, who he carried, and why he (the horse) was so very tired. The livery and tack suggested wealth – newly acquired wealth and influence, in Hwin's opinion – and everything smelled of the great city of Tashbaan.

She tried listening into the conversations of the stable hands and slaves, but they were not interested in family affairs and the world outside the Calavar estate. She pretended to graze as close to the house as she could manage, but the business, whatever it was, was being conducted in the inner courtyard. This meant it was significant, and so much so that her Human, Tarkheena Aravis, had not come out yesterday for their afternoon ride. Aravis was, therefore, expected to be in attendance.

On the one hoof, it was nice to see activity. Since the death of the eldest son of the house, Ardeeb, in the western wars, Calavar had been a sad place. Hwin had liked Ardeeb very much and she had sensed Aravis' bitter sadness at her older brother's death. Further, Aravis did not like her father's new wife and Hwin agreed with her. The marriage to Brijalla of Zalindreh had come too quickly on the wings of Ardeeb's death and Hwin thought Tarkaan Kidrash, in his grief over the loss of son and wife, had hurried into marriage with a weak and vicious woman. Hwin greatly disliked the few instances in which Brijalla had insisted upon riding her. Hwin would willingly bear Aravis; she wanted a say in who else climbed on her back and that basic freedom was denied her in Calormen.

Hwin thought about just opening the gate and going to investigate herself. She had, however, already done this three times in the last moon, and if it happened too frequently, someone would make it more difficult. Also, a stable hand might be punished, and she did not want these young, very hardworking slaves hurt for what was actually her fault.

So, Hwin waited and was eventually rewarded for her patience when one of the stable boys banged and clanked his way down the barn aisle, dragging Hwin's tack through the dirt.

"Ho! Derya, steady there," he said with a cluck. "The Tarkheena is taking you out."

Hwin let out a sigh, her lips fluttering. Her name was _Hwin,_ not the Calormene name of _Derya_ her captors had given her. She was relieved though that it was Aravis who was coming to ride her. If it had been Brijalla, the boy would have called her "Wife of our Lord and Master," or another, single word that was polite when used to describe female dogs and not so polite when applied to others.

The slave was quick about his work and had a bit of carrot before she accepted the bit in her mouth. It was not necessary to bribe her, but it was kindly done. She was a polite Horse – though the Calormenes would call her _well-trained and mannered._ These were insults that still bothered her, even after four years of slavery as a dumb beast of Calormene. Hwin's jailors equated sensible, gentle behavior with stupidity when really it was that raising a fuss only made things ill for her and for the stable boys.

A surge of tension preceded Aravis into the barn. The Tarkheena stomped down the dusty aisle between the stalls, projecting unhappiness and distress so intense, even the dumb horses nervously snorted and stomped.

_What had happened?_

With a curt jerk of her hand that almost hit the slave, Aravis dismissed him. "Leave me!"

The slave scuttled away silently.

Hwin did not approve of Aravis acting impolitely to others – she was herself a slave and did not like how her Human treated other slaves. She would sometimes reprimand Aravis, as best as she was able, without saying anything – a nip, a swish of the tail, or laying back her ears at rude behavior. This time, though, she could tell something was terribly, terribly wrong and Hwin kept the correction to herself.

She nosed at Aravis about the shoulder. Her Human stank of sorrow and distress, even worse than after Ardeeb's death. Aravis was coiled up tightly and as hard as stone. _What is wrong, my friend?_ Hwin wanted to say this but could not and so spoke silently. _Tell me what has hurt you so much._

Aravis did not answer. She wrapped her arms about Hwin's neck and Hwin felt Aravis' wet tears in her mane. Hwin bent her neck and rubbed her head on Aravis' back.

With a shudder and deep breath, Aravis released her hold. "Come, Derya," she said with a soft cluck. "It is time to leave this place."

Aravis was so tense on the ride her legs were gripping Hwin's sides uncomfortably close. They rode some distance from the palace, taking a path Hwin knew but that they had not used since Ardeeb's death. Aravis and Ardeeb had come to this silent, green place often, when the Tarkheena would bother her brother into teaching her to use his sword and bow.

Usually, Hwin was glad there was no one about in this secluded clearing. Today, it worried her for it seemed Aravis was seeking solitude in a very reckless and dangerous temper. Aravis dismounted and tied the reins around Hwin's neck.

Aravis looked carefully about and Hwin wished she could tell her friend what a Talking Horse, or any sensitive Beast of Narnia, would be able to say. They were alone.

"No one is here. That is it, then," Aravis said. She pushed Hwin away, shoving her neck and elbowing her sides. "Go! Derya! Ha!" She had the gall to swat Hwin's own rump!

Hwin flicked her tail irritably and turned back around to face Aravis. She wasn't a dumb horse who would flee at the first opportunity. She was a Talking Horse of Narnia and there was something very wrong with her Human and she wasn't leaving until she found out what it was.

Aravis fumed. She flapped her arms and stomped. "Go! Go home! Ha!"

Hwin shook her whole body and stomped her own foot. _I'm not going anywhere, you silly Human._

Aravis started crying again. She stepped forward and grabbed on to Hwin's own bridle. Hwin lowered her head and Aravis whispered, "Please leave, Derya. You should not be here for this. Go home. Please?"

 _Oh Aslan, no!_ Hwin was horrified. Aravis wouldn't, would she? She pushed her nose harder at her Human.

With a heavy sigh, Aravis released her grip on the bridle. "Atanta, mother of horses, please watch over Derya."

Aravis turned her back and Hwin sensed her adjust something in her clothing.

"In the name of all the gods and goddesses, Tash the Inexorable and Mother Azarorth, guard my journey through the shadow. Zardeenah, lady of night, goddess of maidens, I commend myself to your service. When I wake, may it be at your feet. Let me pass from this world to you and so to those who await me. My brother, watch for me! Mother, you daughter comes! So may it be!"

The horror of the ritual words Aravis chanted had rooted Hwins' hooves to the leafy ground and made her feel as slow and mute as any common horse. She had to act.

"Aravis! Stop!" Hwin choked out, the first words she had spoken in four long years. She could barely speak because of the wretched bit in her mouth. "Don't!"

Aravis whirled about, her shirt bared open to her breast and a long dagger in her hand. "Who spoke? What madness is this?"

Hwin stepped forward. "It's me. I am Hwin. You call me Derya. I spoke."

"It is a lie!" Aravis spit out, so angry, Hwin flinched. "Fear of death has disordered my reason and most shamefully made me think beasts speak. I will not be disgraced! This is madness!"

"No, Aravis," Hwin said. "This is not a trick."

"A delusion!" Aravis cried. She held the dagger over her breast. "Tash the Inexorable, give me courage! Mother Azaroth, give your daughter wisdom! So may it…"

This time, Hwin shoved her nose between Aravis and the dagger she held. She pushed the knife away, forcefully. "Do not kill yourself, Aravis. Nothing is worth the price of your precious life."

Aravis took a startled step back. Hwin sensed her fear. "You can speak?"

"Yes." She matched Aravis step and nudged her arm that still held the knife clutched in her fingers. "Would you please put that knife away? It makes me very nervous."

With a shaking hand, Aravis tucked the knife back in her belt and Hwin relaxed a little.

"What are you?" Aravis asked, still staring. "When did you learn to talk?"

"My name is Hwin, as I said before. Where I am from, most Beasts talk. It is as common as Humans talking. I was kidnapped and brought here as a foal. Now, Aravis, please tell me what is so terrible that you want to kill yourself to avoid it."

"And your name is _Hwin_?" Aravis stumbled over the strange word.

"Yes, it was the name given to me as a foal, by my own mother, when I was born. Please, Aravis, why do you believe the world is better without you in it?"

"Brijalla has sold me off to Ahoshta Tarkaan to be his wife," Aravis said bitterly, and the tears began again. "My father has approved the marriage."

"Oh!" Hwin explained. Yes, that would explain Aravis' unhappiness. "He is that old man? The lowborn flatterer who hopes to replace Axartha Tarkaan as Grand Vizier? He looks like an ape?"

Aravis stared at her. "How do you know all that?"

She sighed, her lips moving softly about the bit in her mouth. "I've heard you Aravis, and everyone else about you, for years. I've understood everything ever said around me."

Aravis slumped to the ground and tied up again the clothes that covered her breasts where she was going to stab herself. Hwin watched warily as Aravis again withdrew her knife, but she only stuck it into the ground and began drawing sharp lines with the tip.

"You should not have stopped me," Aravis said, staring at the dirt. "I would rather find honour in death than to be Ahoshta's wife and slave. I am not afraid of death."

"Of course you are not. But don't be afraid of life either, Aravis."

"But I shall be better dead!" Aravis retorted with a shout. She viciously stabbed the earth again. "My father abandons me to Ahoshta! Ardeeb is dead! My mother is dead! If I am dead at least I shall be with people I love."

"By throwing away the gift of your life that your mother gave you? You would give Brijalla the satisfaction of destroying you?"

Aravis looked up, curious. "Brijalla? You dislike her?"

Hwin laid back her ears and her back foot stomped the leafy ground with a muffled thump. "She is jealous of you, Aravis, and unkind, and she wants you out of your father's house. I do not like it when she has ridden me and if you died, she would certainly take me as her mount."

Aravis rubbed her eyes and nodded. Hwin could feel her despair. "I do not know what else to do. Death is the only dignity left to me."

Hwin stepped forward and pushed her nose at her friend. "If there is life there is hope, Aravis. We must think of something else."

Aravis absently stroked her nose. "I would run away, if I could. But where would I go? I would just be caught, and punished, and then sent in disgrace to marry Ahoshta anyway."

"Oh!" Hwin exclaimed. Really, she had been too accustomed to slavery to think for herself. "But of course!" A wild longing surged in her and hope. Alone, she could never do this. But with Aravis, yes, it was possible.

"What?"

"We can run away, together, to my home, in the North, to Narnia. It is green and beautiful," she said with a sighing flutter of her lips. "You would be welcomed there, Aravis, and free. No female in Narnia is forced to bond with another unwillingly. We would both escape!"

"Narnia!" Aravis cried, and Hwin felt her horror. "It is filled with demons! Witchery, and…" Aravis trailed off. She scooted backward, suspicious, and the knife was now aimed at Hwin. "You are not possessed, are you? You are not a demon? A trick?"

Hwin stepped forward, lowered her nose, breathed on her human, and rubbed her head on Aravis' arm. "I don't know what a Calormene demon is, Aravis. I'm sure I've never met one and I know I'm not. I was born of a mother and nursed on her milk, just as you were. We have been together for four years. I have borne you faithfully all that time. Is that what your demons would do?"

Aravis wrapped her arms about Hwin and kissed her nose. "All these terrible things and the gods blessed me with you, Derya. So may it be."

Hwin did not correct Aravis. The Tarkheena would learn her name, in time.

* * *

“Cat!” I shouted. “CAT!”

I was furious. I was through with this cantrip. _I was done._

“CAT!”

Normally, I’d be a rat but this time, for this, I was a fox, a dog to the cat. Maybe Aslan was less likely to eat a fox. I didn’t care if he did. I’d get over it. Unlike poor Nekane.

This was _betrayal_ and as foul to the gods as something could be.

“If you don’t show up now, I’m leading that girl right into a pit of vipers.” And Aslan would know I wasn’t being metaphorical. If I vowed to do something, it got done.

Maybe I’d burn the whole Calavar estate down along with that haridan, Brijalla, and the sniveling Kidrash. Or maybe burn it down and leave the two of them destitute. Boils and beggars. Make them live through their wretchedness rather than let them be delivered from it.

After I made sure Tarkheena Aravis suffered -- slowly, painfully, and miserably.

“Trickster?”

I whirled around, my tail sweeping across Aslan’s jaw. Today, he was a lion, not a cat, and I should have at least flinched, but I was beyond caring what he did to me.

“She’s cruel and she’s worthless. She’s not worth a moment’s more of my time. I’m not helping her. Not a thing. You’re going to have to get that Tarkheena cur to Archenland without me.”

Aslan flicked his tail and growled.

“Don’t give me that,” I snapped. “You’re damned lucky Shasta isn’t the fiend Arsheesh was. But Tarkheena Aravis lived by the lash, she should die by it. Let the leeches feed on her. Jackals can gnaw her alive. I’m only sticking around to make sure I’m there to see her ruined, humiliated, and beggared on the streets of Tashbaan.”

“What is the reason for such anger?”

The way the lion could just not even _see_ much less comprehend human misery was something I never could understand. Maybe his subjects weren’t wicked in the same way humans could be, though there had been plenty of beasts and trees that served the old white sorceress. How could Aslan be so humans-be-damned _blind?_

“The slave girl, Nekane, in that house.” I gestured at the Calavar estate we were looking down upon. “The one your chosen Tarkheena deceived and drugged to make her escape. Nekane was whipped, ten lashes, for what Aravis did to her.”

When Aslan said nothing, I snarled at him. “Nekane looked to me. She _was mine._ Gave me food off her plate once a week. Kept me in her prayers. And your girl knew she’d be punished and doesn’t give a whit. She’s _glad_ one of mine, a poor, frightened, powerless, slave was beaten near to death. And _that’s_ who you want as a queen of your northern realm someday?”

A cold wind blew between us, carrying a plaintive, angry cry.

Aslan growled.

“That’s right,” I confirmed coolly. “After hurting one of _mine_ , your chosen one committed another defilement. She used the blood rites she owes baby sister as an excuse to cover her escape.” I paused to emphasize the enormity of the crime. “And then she left without performing them or giving her maiden protector so much as a prayer.”

The lion might not understand what that meant but Zardeenah had a longer memory even than I did. Any Calormene girl who tried to leave childhood without Zardeenah’s blessing was a monstrous fool. It was a terrible thing to do, and deeply unsafe. And the girls who did it were uniformly _awful._

“To continue your support, what…”

“Not interested, Aslan. I’m not doing it.”

“Satisfaction would you need?”

“I…”

_Wait. What?_

“What do you mean?”

“Nekane was in your care. You are right to be angry. If I vow to deliver it upon Aravis on your behalf, what punishment would satisfy you? And what amends must be made to Nekane herself?”

I was gobsmacked. Aslan always made himself out as being above and beyond us, our Emperor’s favourite pet cat. He was aloof even to those active in his own lands, like Atanta, Bacchus, Father Pan, Pomona and the others.

“A gift to me is rewarded thrice. Same with punishment. Thirty lashes to Aravis for Nekane’s ten.”

“I will deliver ten. Myself. And I will make sure she knows why. And I will sponsor Nekane to Mother Azaroth’s Temple, or see her safely on a ship to the Lone Islands where she will be free and find a good situation.”

Aslan _never_ inconvenienced himself in this way with the Calormene. _Ever._ He really, _really_ wants this. _Really needs this._

“You’re worried about this going down, aren’t you?” It _was_ a very complicated scheme. Truth was, I was only really focused on the pranking. Aslan was worried about Rabadash kidnapping and raping a Queen of Narnia and invading Narnia if this prank failed.

“I am. It depends upon many things in Calormen over which I have little influence.”

“You need me. All of us really.”

“I do.”

Except Tash. Aslan and Tash really didn’t get on all that well and given that we were pulling one on Rabadash and the Tisroc, Big Bird certainly wouldn’t help. But my elder brother wouldn’t interfere, either. He’d want to see what Rabadash did, how he led, and if he was worthy of his favour. Tash was eagle-eyed for a reason -- the god of farsight and foresight. He took the long view, saw all possible ends, and would let men hang themselves if they were determined to do so. And eat their livers after.

“Alright,” I finally said. “Atanta and I will get them all to the river. You do your _RAWRR I’m going to eat you_ to force them together. We’ll pick it up again from there.”

“What of Zardeenah?”

“Not my problem, Aslan. Aravis won’t get hit with a Fell curse or Djinn spell, now, while she’s under our protection. Can’t say what happens later, if she doesn’t fix it.”

“I understand. And thank you, Trickster, and your sisters.”

 _Aslan thanking us._ Who would have thought? I heard Mother Azaroth laughing. She was never going to let the lion live this one down and _she was going to tell everybody._

_“Oh hush, my brother. Don’t give away the game. Sister Atanta and I will both get something from that arrogant cat when the time comes.”_

I turned, swished my tail, and trotted away. There was a lot more work to be done.

* * *

Dealing with these four was _exhausting_. I wasn’t going to do anything _to_ the Tarkheena, little wretch that she was, but I wasn’t going to do anything _for_ her, either. I could see why Atanta had no patience at all for the Horse. Bree and Aravis deserved each other. But Hwin and Shasta, well, they were good sorts. I really liked them both and they needed the other two in order to get through this.

Aslan had actually been helpful for once. Splitting himself into two, roaring like a lunatic, and scaring the horses out of their wits had been a good trick, and saved me a lot of effort. Though, wasn’t it just typical for Aslan to swoop in with the big, flashy show, take all the credit, and then ignore the long days and nights as the fugitives crept their way north to Tashbaan. The lion of Narnia never worried about things like where two children and two horses would get clean water and fodder, or where they could sleep safely.

The four of them were being smart about it, though, which made it easier and I was grateful for it. I couldn’t fault them. But it wasn’t easy to keep them fed, alert, and away from trouble, I had to summon clouds of biting flies to keep soldiers, travelers, and caravans away. When a gang of bandits got too close, sister Atanta made their horses shy and balk so the band went off in the other direction and they never saw the two children and two very fine horses.

They’d been arguing constantly about how to navigate Tashbaan and I figured it was just a matter of time before they exhausted all the stupid ideas and finally listened to the smart one Hwin had offered at the very beginning. I was counting on the disguises and putting Shasta in the right place at the right time. Mother Azaroth had something brewing she was _very_ pleased with that was so complicated, it made even my head hurt.

That day had ended like the others before it. Shasta had gone into a village for food and Aravis had gone around it, with the horses, and they waited for him on the other side. They’d then pulled off the road to camp in a copse of trees that offered some green grass for the horses and shelter for the children.

I wasn’t paying much attention, just hanging out in a branch and pretending to be a jackdaw. The children had eaten and Bree and Aravis were going on (and on and on and on) about their fancy parties and summer villas and winter retreats and campaigns against infidels. Hwin was doing what she always did -- keeping her head down, listening to every word, watching every movement, and doing an amazing imitation of a not-talking horse (I knew to not even think of calling them that d-word or Atanta would have had one of the horses stomp on me).

Shasta suddenly stood abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Bree asked. Aravis never talked to Shasta if she could help it.

Shasta mumbled something about stretching his legs and walked away from their camp. I decided I’d better follow him.

He was backtracking, from the path we’d come on, creeping back in the direction of the village. He was very quiet -- probably from years of trying to avoid Arsheesh’s lash. I was a little worried -- I didn’t like to see him by himself without one of the horses or Aravis, who could use a sword. But then I saw that Hwin had chosen to follow him.

“You don’t have to come, Hwin. I’ll be fine.”

“I know,” Hwin replied. “I saw what you did at dinner and I think we both want to do the same thing. I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind.”

_Do what? What had Shasta done?_

“If you want.”

They stopped at a signpost under a fig tree that marked the distance on the road to the village. It was almost dark but you could see, distantly, a few lanterns being lit and the smoke of braziers rising. Farmers were returning from the fields, carrying heavy baskets and leading shuffling donkeys. I heard murmured prayers to me, a woman at the well chanting under her breath as she dropped the bucket, an old man at my shrine leaving some flowers, some children skipping rope and singing the song about the time I tricked Tash into eating rocks instead of our sisters in the nest. I felt a spurt of peace and protectiveness and decided I’d stop by the village later to dispense blessings thrice to my good people, who always remembered me even in their poverty.

Shasta pulled the bread loaf from his supper out of his pocket. He’d not even eaten from it. _What was he doing?_

He brushed the loaf off and then set it reverently under the fig tree.

_Oh._

Shasta turned toward the village and bowed. “My lord Trickster. I’m sorry to steal from your people. Bree calls it raiding and because we’re in enemy territory. That’s true and we need to do it. But I’m sorry. Our need doesn’t make it right. Please accept my offering and may you return it threefold to those who need it.”

“That was very well thought,” Hwin said. The Mare bowed her own head. “Lady Atanta, Epona of the North, my thanks for a safe journey and good company. Please watch over your daughters and sons. May they be spared the whip, the spur and the biting dog, and know good grass and cool water. May these good people under the Trickster’s care know a fruitful crop and plentiful harvest.”

I raised a breeze brisk enough to rattle the tree and send a few figs down to the ground.

“I think he heard you,” Hwin said.

“I hope so.” I’d meant for Shasta to take the figs with my blessing since he’d skipped his supper to make the offering. But the boy gathered up the figs and piled them next to the bread.

 _Hwin and Shasta both. Aslan was damned lucky_.

“I don’t know Lady Atanta,” Shasta said. “I know the shepherds pray to her to watch their flocks and farmers in the village would give first fruits and grains to her. Maybe you can tell me about her.”


	4. How I Got Shasta In And Out Of Tashbaan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tashbaan was always going to be the tricky part of the prank.

Some of the dialogue is from Chapters 4 and 5 of _The Horse and His Boy_.

* * *

The great horns blew, causing the very air to shimmer and the valley to shake. The gates of Tashbaan were opening. As the children shuffled through with the horses, I really had my doubts about whether this would work. Even I could tell Bree and Hwin weren’t pack animals and Aravis looked exactly like what she was -- a proud, rich, runaway. I had helped where I could, making sure the mud on the horses was crusty and their tails were especially ragged -- I really enjoyed being so thorough that Bree complained.

Shasta got mouthy and a guard cuffed him and knocked him to the ground. I marked the man for my special attentions later.

“Stay focused, little brother,” Mother Azaroth said.

She was combing through her hair and braiding it. Other than her customary veil, I didn’t recognize what her guise was today. Azaroth wore many faces and she could be anything -- representing infinite possibilities as she did. She was wearing slippers and had a big basket filled with bright spools of thread and skeins of yarn, so maybe a well-to-do guildwoman with the weavers or spinners.

I wished I had her calm. Keeping up with Prince Corin and keeping him from getting killed had taken most of the night. The boy was a terror -- thoughtless and arrogant, but good with his fists and wits. I was impressed with his ingenuity. The scheme of getting the Watch who had caught him so drunk they passed out had been all his own doing. I did make sure he was chased to the other side of Tashbaan and Atanta was keeping an eye on him so he wouldn’t get back to the Narnian residence until late in the day. It was a lot of effort, though, for a part of the plan I didn’t really see the importance of.

“I’m still not following why Aslan needs Shasta to be with the Narnians for a few hours.”

“Well, _I_ need Shasta there so he’s not with Aravis. I won’t be able to get her into the Tisroc’s Old Palace otherwise.” Azaroth replied.

“Aslan really didn’t think that part of the plan out, did he?”

“It’s hardly surprising. He and those Archenlanders always ignore women’s work.”

Azaroth calmly plaited a bright yellow ribbon in her hair. I didn’t care much one way or another about what happened in Archenland or Narnia but I knew I wasn’t going to get my prank on Rabadash and Aravis’s punishment without getting Shasta on his way across the desert with Aravis and the horses and that was going to require some of this women’s business Azaroth was taking care of. Funny that Aslan was so intent on Shasta when it would actually be Aravis who would “save Archenland from the deadliest danger in which ever she lay.” I was reminded again that sometimes my support of the poor wasn’t that far from Azaroth’s patronage to women.

The veil over her face fluttered as Azaroth pinned the braid to her head. “For my own part, I ask you to please render whatever aid you can to Queen Susan.”

Azaroth wanted something _from me_? That didn’t happen very often. Big sister was learned, subtle, powerful, and always doing the work that others, typically, took credit for.

“It’s _Queen Susan_ , now?” Everyone called her the White Barbarian Queen.

“I’ve watched the Narnian Queen for days now and I’m being very magnanimous in letting her go. I certainly don’t want to see her as a slave to Rabadash. I would have preferred to keep her here and make her a priestess in my own Temple. ”

“Aslan wouldn’t like that. He’ll never give her up.”

Azaroth laughed and patted her braids. “As you would say, what Aslan wishes concerns me how?”

She hefted her basket on to her hip. “And little brother, there are two matters I draw to your particular and creative attention.”

I perked my ears. Azaroth’s wisdoms were, as the saying goes, more valued than water in the desert and as precious as pearls in oysters. If she was offering something, I was a fool to not listen to it

“This is an opportunity for Aslan to owe you, at least twice over, and beyond even your aid to Shasta. The Narnians could easily die here without a trick to escape.”

I didn’t want that. If they died here, I’d not get my joke on Rabadash or Aravis’s punishment.

“Also, be on the lookout for a Narnian rat. She’s very bold. Her name is Willa and she’s a close confidant of the Queen’s. She’s been spying about Tashbaan and trying to find a way into the Tisroc’s Palace. I think you would like her very much and she’ll need your assistance as well.”

“If I did all that, Aslan would owe me thrice.”

“At least.”

Maybe I’d get more than ten lashes on Aravis’s back. I scratched my ear with my hind leg. “Thank you, big sister.”

“You are welcome, little brother. This has been very educational. Aravis needs a lot of work but you were correct -- I _would_ like to see her on a northern throne, when she’s ready.”

“She’ll have to placate Zardeenah, first.”

“That will also be women’s work and a long day off,” Azaroth replied. “This romp of yours has also brought me closer to a Tarkheena who is ready for the larger world, and I’ve very much enjoyed watching Queen Susan.”

“I’m still not keeping her here for you.”

“Of course not.” Azaroth adjusted the basket on her hip. “I’ll be doing some pushing and prodding. I’ll see you in the street.”

She disappeared and I scampered down to follow the children and the horses. There was a crowded corner near the Narnian residence in the inner circle of the City where we would get this going. Shasta was praying hard under his breath to me and, as the god of the Crossroads, I was glad to nudge Bree along the route we wanted them to take. I would have done it anyway but it just made me appreciate how good Shasta was. Hwin wasn’t saying anything, of course, but I caught, in her heart, an earnest prayer to Atanta for a safe journey and sent it along to Sister. Atanta and I were both fortunate with these two and I felt Atanta’s favor on them from afar.

The group was moving slowly, which also gave me time to pick up some offerings and dispense blessings threefold as we went. Tashbaan wasn’t good to my people and they were especially ragged here.

Aravis was surly, grumbling and Shasta kept telling her to lower her head and stop staring at people unless she wanted to get cuffed or feel the end of a whip or spear butt. I was pretty chuffed at the prospect and was very happy that Aravis was so unhappy. She was accustomed to being in a litter, and carried about by slaves, and here she was shuffling along and getting shoved and pushed like anybody else. Thinking of ways to humiliate her kept me occupied as we trudged up the winding streets.

It was getting really crowded when we finally got to the street of the Rising Moon of the Tisroc Arkenfrar -- who hadn’t lived forever. Or, it might have been the Avenue of the Setting Sun of The Fifth Grand Vizier. _Something._ I didn’t need directions or maps like some tour guide. We were where we were supposed to be. Azaroth was shadowing Shasta with her enormous basket and then the Narnians emerged through a portico, marching together back to their residence.

"Way! Way! Way!" called the Crier. "Way for the White Barbarian King, the guest of the Tisroc (may he live forever)! Way for the Narnian lords."

The crowd all came to a standstill, just like they always did, and especially craning and jostling for a look at the Northerners. I bit a few feet so that people scattered, muttering about _rats in the sewers_. Shasta ended up right where we wanted him, at the front of the crowd, and as he tried to retreat back into the throng, Azaroth was behind him, blocking his retreat. She pushed her basket into his shoulders. “Now then! Who are you shoving!"

I bit a few more bare feet -- they tasted awful -- and Shasta was perfectly positioned.

“Oh, don’t the Barbarians look fine!” Azaroth said, giving Shasta an elbow in the side. The boy made the fatal mistake he’d warned Aravis of and tilted his head up to watch the Narnians march by. As Shasta looked up, I blew a breeze so thick with magic, every one of the Narnians would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to miss it. I even added a warm, spicy scent that I thought they would mistake for Aslan’s presence. That cat _reeked_. He really needed to bathe more.

 _Look,_ I whispered. _There’s someone here_. Granted, I _was_ imitating the stupid cat but I was still surprised when one of the men snapped his head about sharply with a frown and tried batting me away like I was fly -- I wasn’t sure if he was consciously pushing back against my influence, but, somehow, he recognized my magic as intrusive to his devotion.

And … _Tash’s balls_ , _it was no wonder._ The cat was practically riding on the man’s shoulder and whispering in his ear. A god getting that close to a human could drive them clean out of their wits. This man probably never got a good night’s sleep and was likely a drunk or an addict. No matter how much I favored someone, I’d _never_ do that to them. Aslan was a real bastard to the ones he was closest to.

“King Edmund,” the man said, calling to the man in front.

_So that was the younger King._

_Handsome. Very handsome. Ohh I liked him a lot._ I could see what brother Bacchus saw in him, dark and all sharp edges. I’d have to find out if we could share Edmund sometime, though I’d heard he might be bonded to a woman. Maybe she’d join us.

Edmund turned his head and it was done. His eyes swept over Shasta who was staring back at him and had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. “There he is! There's our runaway!" the King cried.

The King took two long strides and cuffed Shasta lightly. I might have gotten irritated and returned it in kind but I couldn’t say that striking wasn’t uncalled for, either. I’d spent a night with Corin yesterday and the boy was a menace. I’d have cuffed him, too.

"Shame on you, my lord! Fie for shame! Queen Susan's eyes are red with weeping because of you. What! Truant for a whole night! Where have you been?"

I worried for a moment that Shasta would bolt but the King called to the other Narnian, who had the cat riding on him. "Take one of his little lordship's hands, Peridan, and I'll take the other. Our royal sister's mind will be greatly eased when she sees our young scapegrace back and safe.”

Peridan stepped up on Shasta’s other side and the boy sagged in defeat. He wasn’t going anywhere except with the Narnians.

I hesitated, worried about Hwin, but Azaroth gave me a shove. “Go! This is mine, now.”

So I ran after the Narnians who were hustling Shasta through a narrow street and down some stairs to their residence. Another turn and another set of stairs and we were in one of the finest places I’d seen in Tashbaan. Rabadash was obviously trying to impress the Queen. Clean, white walls, cypress trees, climbing roses, chirping birds, though… I looked more closely and realized that crows had been flying along with the Narnians were talking birds. They were probably using talking animals as spies all over Tashbaan. That rat Azaroth had mentioned, who was trying to get into the Tisroc’s Palace, was surely a spy, too.

That was pretty smart. Maybe this would be fun.

I followed them into a big greeting room. It was the usual opulent, rich nonsense with thick carpets, tapestries, wide open windows facing north, and all of it made on the backs of, and cleaned by, my people for the benefit of the rich and powerful. These sorts of places always annoyed me. I couldn’t blame the Narnians, though -- this was all Rabadash’s doing.

Shasta had no idea what to do. He wasn’t trying to get out of it or explain who he was. I supposed he’d spent too many years getting beaten and abused by drunk adults. He’d want to escape back to Bree as soon as he could. I wanted to comfort him but I had to be careful around Peridan. He’d sense most of my usual tricks.

A really beautiful woman jumped up from one of the couches and dashed to Shasta. She kissed him and I thought that was probably the first time the boy had ever had a woman’s gentle touch since he’d been stolen from his mother.

"Oh Corin, Corin, how could you? Especially when we have been so close!? What would your royal father have said, or done, if we had come without you? You have sorely tried us and badly used us, Friend.”

As they prattled about the King of Archenland and scolded, I could see when Shasta figured out that he’d been mistaken for the Prince.

"Where have you been?” the woman demanded, her hands still on Shasta's shoulders.

Shasta wasn’t going to say anything to give himself away. I was a little annoyed that the Narnians didn’t see his obvious pain, mistrust, and confusion. But maybe they only saw that hellion, Corin.

"I—I don't know," Shasta finally stammered.

"There it is, Susan," Edmund. "I could get no tale out of him, true or false."

So this was Queen Susan. There didn’t seem to be anything special about her, though she was comely.

"Your Majesties! Queen Susan! King Edmund! His Highness has had a touch of the sun. Look at him! He is dazed. He does not know where he is.”

Hullo! The person speaking was a Faun. He was older and a little bit stout. I immediately felt brother Pan’s sway over the Faun. It was stronger than Aslan, even, which was interesting. Maybe not all the Narnians were sheep.

 _That_ , I could use.

After that, the Narnians were very kind to Shasta. They had him lie down and gave him an iced drink and he looked very comfortable. Maybe too comfortable, though I did wonder what they’d do if they realized he was just a slave. I knew what the typical Tarkaan would do and so did Shasta. I sent a wish and a prayer to Atanta to hurry Corin along. I hoped I wouldn’t have to do too much to make the switch -- Peridan was definitely a complicating factor and would surely sense my usual tricks.

The Narnians were all settling down and it had the feel of a council. I was already bored and not paying much attention but figured this was what Azaroth had been urging me to attend to. So I yawned and tried to listen.

“Now, sister,” Edmund was saying. “We have been here three full weeks. Have you settled on marrying Prince Rabadash, or no?”

Susan her head. "No, brother," she said, "not for all the jewels in Tashbaan. Prince Rabadash has shown himself here to be very different from how he comported himself before."

"Yes," Edmund replied. "We have now seen him for what he is, a proud, bloody, luxurious, cruel and self-pleasing tyrant."

Well, at least they were sensible about that. Really, anyone who liked Rabadash was an idiot.

Susan nodded. "By Aslan’s grace, let us leave Tashbaan this very day."

"There's the rub, Su," Edmund replied. "For now I must open to you all that has been growing in my mind these last two days and more. Peridan, would you…”

I didn’t quite follow all that happened, but Edmund, Susan, and Peridan all exchange hand signals. The Crows flitted silently about to the windows and then took positions that were surely sentries on a watch. A good-looking black rat came out from behind a doorway and scurried about, looking behind the curtains and the other entrances to the room. She climbed up onto a ledge where a big raven was perched, whispered something to the bird, and then disappeared through the window. I thought that was probably Willa, the rat Azaroth had said was a spy. The raven bobbed his head and the humans all moved closer together with two Dwarfs and the Faun.

This was spycraft. I liked the Narnians better already.

“Now,” Edmund said, “We must be secret for I believe we are in no small danger."

“Edmund?! What is it?” Susan answered in a frightened whisper. “There is something dreadful in your face."

"I do not think we shall find it easy to leave Tashbaan. While the Prince had hope that you would take him, we were honoured guests. But, I think that as soon as he has your flat denial we shall be no better than prisoners."

One of the Dwarfs gave a low whistle.

"I have been with the Prince this morning," continued Edmund. "Rabadash is very chafed at your long delays and doubtful answers. When I hinted that he might be refused, he grew dangerous. Though there was always that veiled courtesy, there was no mistaking the threat in every word he spoke."

"I had a similar exchange with the Grand Vizier that was even less subtle," the Faun said. "He asked me how I liked Tashbaan. When I told him that with high summer coming on, I longed to return to the cooler mountains of Narnia, he gave a smile that meant no good and said, 'There is nothing to hinder you from dancing there again, little goatfoot; _always provided you leave us in exchange a bride for our prince_.'"

"He would make me his wife by force," Susan said into the serious quiet that followed.

“Or worse,” Edmund replied.

The Queen rubbed her fingers on her gown. "Does the Tisroc seriously think that Narnia would suffer such an outrage? We are not defenceless. At sea, we are greater than he. And by land, he has the desert to cross.”

No sooner did the talk turn to fighting than a smoky shadow appeared by the cold fireplace.

“What are you doing here, brother?” I hissed. I saw Peridan turn his head about again.

“Do you think I would miss this? The prospect of a futile last stand and burned alive in a house in Tashbaan?”

Tash was in the form of a tiny falcon, smaller even than I was.

Just as Tash mentioned death by fire, one of the Dwarfs said, "We have our weapons. And this is a reasonably defensible house."

Even I knew that was idiotic. And the other Narnians did too. Peridan was shaking his head, Edmund was saying something about rats and traps, which was making his sister smile, and the raven pointed out that the house would just be burned down with them trapped in it.

“It’s interesting,” Tash mused as he cocked his head and listened to the discussion. “I’d assumed Narnians always relied upon Aslan to rescue them. I have thought them too lazy for strategy. This is sound debate.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’ll never make it out of the city once Rabadash learns they are trying to escape.”

“That’s regrettable. If they do not escape now, I’ll not have my larger battle in the North.”

“What?” _Oh, of course._ “Azaroth promised that, didn’t she?” Tash was always interested in seeing who performed well and who did not, who deserved his favor, and who should get their eyes and livers plucked out.

Tash tilted his head, listening as they blathered about some oasis. “Going overland is folly. Apart from getting out of the City, they could not cross the desert. They brought no horses and have a pitiful guard.” Big bird -- who was little now -- ruffled his feathers irritably. “The Queen and King both have formidable guards - a wolf and a tiger. Rabadash was wise enough to get them excluded from this visit and the Narnians were foolish enough to agree to that condition. I should have liked to have seen them in combat. The Narnians can use giants as well.” Tash sounded positively wistful. Bird brother did love his bloodshed and who rose and fell amidst it.

“Well,” I replied, trying to sound reasonable. “You still can get your battle up north, _if_ we can get them out of here.”

“We?” Tash replied dryly.

 _Typical._ Big brother wouldn’t interfere but he wouldn’t help and he knew I was rubbish at anything involving fighting.

_Wait._

“If they didn’t come across the desert, how did they get there?”

“You really are _terrible_ at military strategy, brother.”

“I’d never deny it. So _help_ me.”

I could see Tash weighing whether to tell me. “A wolf, a tiger, _and_ giants,” I whispered. “Imagine what that would be in the midst of Rabadash’s cavalry.”

“They came by ship, little brother,” Tash finally said. “A very fine, swift ship that is still moored in the harbour. They do not boast. The Calormene are not equal to the Narnians at sea. If they can slip their anchor and reach the harbour’s mouth, they would not be caught.”

Tash dissolved in a puff of smoke and I knew what I needed to do. The trick was plain -- and good -- Get the Narnians down to their ship under some ruse and they could sail out under the cover of darkness. Rabadash wouldn’t know he’d been tricked and humiliated until it was too late. But how to plant the idea? I couldn’t come at Peridan and I was reluctant to push very hard on Edmund or Susan. Aslan’s presence wasn’t as obvious, but it was there.

_The Faun._

I gave him a shove. _“Listen, goatfoot. Lie. Tell them the Queen’s going to accept. Plan a party. on the boat. Get on the boat. Sail away.”_

The Faun’s mind, though, was as hard as his hooves. He sure didn’t think much of Aslan, but there wasn’t much room for me, either. I started kicking. _“Let me in you fool or you’ll all die here!”_

The Faun started clutching his horns.

Tash’s balls, all I was doing was giving him a headache.

I started hollering for Father Pan. “Pan! Wake up, you lout! _Pan_!”

I kept kicking at the Faun. He was really groaning now, stupid goat.

“Pan!” I shouted. “Get your head out of the bottle and your mouth off that tit or cock!”

“What?” a voice slurred.

I pointed. “Him. That Faun. I need to plant something in his head. Let me in.”

Pan blinked blearily. I could hear music and laughing. Pann had been drunk _and_ fucking.

“That’s Tumnus. He’s mine. You don’t get him.”

 _By my brother’s feathered balls_. _What would I do with a Narnian Faun?_ “I don’t want him, you fuckwit. I’m trying to save his life.”

“Oh.” Pan paused and looked around. I was never sure if it was that he was dim, or just always drunk. At least Bacchus knew how to put on a really destructive riot. “Why are the Narnians in Tashbaan?”

“Hopefully not dying, if I can help it.”

I was worried that Pan would ask for an explanation but the music picked up and I heard rhythmic cries and panting. I really had taken him out of someone -- several someones -- at the wrong time.

“Very well.”

Pan disappeared and a chink in Tumnus’s spiritual armor opened up. I planted _Ship Lie Party Escape_ and kept beating on him.

Edmund was asking, “What is the matter with you, Master Tumnus?"

The Faun was grasping his horns in his hands as if trying to keep his head on his neck. He was writhing and practically howling in pain. What I was doing had obviously hurt, but oh well. Better than getting burned alive.

"Don't speak to me, don't speak to me! I'm thinking.”

_Ship Lie Party Escape_

I could tell when the idea lodged between his aching horns and pulled out. The Faun looked up, drew a long breath and mopped his forehead. “The only difficulty is how to get down to our ship - with some stores, too - without being seen and stopped."

"Yes," said a Dwarf drily. "Just as the beggar's only difficulty about riding is that he has no horse."

"Wait, wait," said Tumnus impatiently. "All we need is some pretext for going down to our ship today and taking stuff on board."

All the other Narnias were staring at him, not getting it and I was wondering if maybe Tash was right and they just always expected Aslan to rescue them.

"Yes," Edmund replied slowly. And he was supposed to be the smart one.

"Well, then," said the Faun, "how would it be if your Majesties invited the Prince to a great banquet to be held on board the _Splendour Hyaline_ , tomorrow night? And let the message be worded as graciously as the Queen can contrive without pledging her honour, so as to give the Prince a hope that she is weakening."

"This is very good counsel, Sire," croaked the raven. Well, at least the bird was smart.

"And then," continued Tumnus excitedly, "everyone will expect us to be going down to the ship all day, making preparations for our guests. And let some of us go to the bazaars and spend every minim we have at the fruiterers and the sweetmeat sellers and the wine merchants, just as we would if we were really giving a feast. And let us order magicians and jugglers and dancing girls and flute players, all to be on board tomorrow night."

"I see, I see," said King Edmund, rubbing his hands.

"And then," said Tumnus, "we'll all be on board to-night. And as soon as it is quite dark——"

"Up sails and out oars!" said the King.

"And so to sea," cried Tumnus, leaping up and beginning to dance.

"And our nose northward," Susan cried. "Running for home! For Narnia and the North!"

"And the Prince waking next morning and finding his birds flown!" said Peridan.

They were all clapping and dancing but the raven was the one who neatly put the pin in all of it.

“My King and Queen. We’ll find no better plot than the Faun's. Let us all take our meal and then at once get this business done.”

Everyone all swept out and I could see Shasta wondering what to do and maybe making a run for it but the Faun came back and said something about getting him food and to rest until they made their escape. Shasta was nervous and muttering under his breath but I thought the hardest part was done -- here at least. I’d let him have a good meal and a rest and, with everyone out of the house, it would be easy to switch Shasta and Corin.

Shasta ate while the Faun prattled on. I could see why Pan liked him. He was clever and there was a lovely pool of bitterness bubbling just beneath the surface of his pleasant seeming manners. I was looking out for that rat. But if she was set on trying to get into the Tisroc’s Palace, she’d probably not make it back to their ship. Maybe that’s what she needed help with.

Shasta fell asleep and I could tell the place was mostly empty -- Edmund and Susan were in another part of the house and Peridan came in twice, sniffing about. But Tash was long gone and I made myself small and the snoop wasn’t looking for me hiding under Shasta’s fatigue.

I could hear Atanta’s complaint from a long ways away and growing louder with each step.

“He’s a fiend,” she groaned, driving Corin forward with swarms of biting flies and livestock that kept swinging about and blocking his attempts to divert to new explorations. “I _hate_ humans.”

It was nearly time. Shasta would be leaving my care for the lion’s, for now. I couldn’t see ahead, not the way that Tash did or that Aslan seemed to. Corin was scampering over the roofs.

I breathed on Shasta. “When you are a Prince in a cold Northern castle, remember the people you came from, for they will always be there if you care enough to see them. Remember the girl who nursed you as an infant and would heal your hurts when Arsheesh beat you; remember the family who would share with you the little bread they had when you were hungry; remember the crone at my temple in the village who taught you who I was and how to say your prayers. What you do for the least, the poorest, and the weakest, you do for me. Go with the Trickster’s blessings thrice, little Prince.”

There were grunts of effort and then Corin’s fingers appeared in the window frame as he tried to pull himself up into the room. I set a vase to toppling and Shasta woke with a start.

Seeing them both together, staring at one another, I did wonder at why Aslan’s plan made any sense. Why didn’t the Narnians take Shasta back with them _now_? Aravis could rescue Archenland.

 _Fool of a cat._ I heard Azaroth muttering, “if it’s a woman’s work, you can be sure a male will take credit for it.

_Everything proceeding?_

_Fine,_ Azaroth grumbled. _Aravis is going to take a lot of work._

_Not my problem but you have my blessings and thanks, big Sister._

_Oh, we’re not done with you yet._

I didn’t like the sound of that.

_Just remember the rat._

"Are you Prince Corin?" Shasta asked.

"Yes, of course," Corin replied. "But who are you?"

"I'm nobody, nobody in particular, I mean. King Edmund caught me in the street and mistook me for you. I suppose we must look like one another. Can I get out the way you've got in?"

"Yes, if you're any good at climbing. But why are you in such a hurry? I say, we ought to be able to get some fun out of this being mistaken for one another."

"No! We must change places at once. I've had to pretend to be you. And it’s a good thing you’re back -- you all are leaving tonight, in secret. And where were you all this time?"

Corin rattled on about his exploits. I think Shasta understood the risks better than Corin did because he was edging to the window.

"There's no time," Shasta said, sounding pretty frantic. "I'm a Narnian, I believe; something northern anyway. But I've been brought up all my life in Calormen. And I'm escaping: across the desert; with a talking Horse called Bree. And now, quick! How do I get away?"

Moments later he was climbing down and running lightly across the roofs. I guided him out of the City, to the River, and toward the Tombs. He’d be lonely there tonight , and cold, but Aravis and the horses would find him there tomorrow night. I could see Aslan sunbathing on the top of one of the tombs. _Of all the cheek._ That was just like him. It was all fine until it happened to him, and then he called it sacrilege.

“He’s all yours now, cat.” I could hear Shasta muttering thanks to me and I sent a final blessing to him. Aslan could try, but Shasta would always carry me first in his heart and prayers.

I turned back around to the city. It was time to find the rat.

* * *

I decided to start at the Narnian residence. By the time I arrived, Corin had been discovered and was under a guard in a locked room with no windows. My timing was very good because Susan and Edmund were fretting about that rat, Willa. It made me like them more to hear how they talked about her. And made me really want to find her.

“And she warned me!” the Queen said. “Willa was certain Rabadash was playing me. We cannot leave her behind. They will torture and kill her if she is found out.”

“Willa knows her business, my Queen,” the raven replied. The raven’s name was Sallowpad and he was the one who had first picked up on the plan I’d hammered into the Faun’s head so he was obviously pretty quick. “You must sail as soon as it is full dark. If the spy reveals our plan…”

“We don’t know if he was a spy,” Edmund replied sharply. “It could, in fact, be much worse.”

“Do you think so?” Susan put a hand on her brother’s arm. “Could it really have been Cor? Hidden in Tashbaan all this time?”

So, they’d figured it out. I was glad Shasta was already out of the city. I didn’t think the Narnians would discover him out by the tombs. Well, that was Aslan’s problem. I couldn’t solve everything.

Her brother shook his head. “None of us could tell them apart.”

“Your guards would have smelled the difference,” Sallowpad said. “One more way in which Rabadash outplayed us, making you keep them in Narnia.”

If any of the Tisroc’s advisors had spoken so, they would have lost their heads.

“If he is indeed traveling North with a Talking Horse, he may get there before we do,” Edmund said.

“And he would have heard your counsel as to the route to the oasis, Sallowpad,” Susan put in. “With that knowledge and Aslan's blessing, maybe they can survive the desert crossing.”

"The Lion is a long way from here." The raven ruffled his feathers. “I will look for Willa. And the boy. Don’t wait for me or Willa. You _must_ sail with the tide." The raven hopped to a window and flew away.

I wanted to follow the bird but was curious as to these two.

“I feel such a fool,” Susann said bitterly. “I thought I could play this game.”

Edmund shook his head. “I know you will blame yourself, Susan, but place it first with Rabadash. He bears the fault here, not you.”

“Has that justification ever worked for you, my brother?”

“Susan…”

She held up her hand and shook her head. “Enough. We do not have time for this now.”

The Queen took a deep breath and I could see how she pushed the worry and strategy to the side and a pleasant, empty expression settled on her face. “Shall we to the markets, my brother? We have a celebration to plan!”

What a clever actress. No wonder Azaroth wanted her. 

_But no, I'm not helping you._ _Aslan will eat me. Again._ I made sure big sister heard that.

Her brother shook his head. “All this time, and still you can astound me, Susan.” He took her arm. His pleasant expression was almost as good as hers. “Yes, by all means my Queen and Sister! To the wine merchants! And the booksellers.”

“Booksellers?”

“A gift,” Edmund replied, seeming very smug.

“I don’t want to know anything more, do I?”

"A gift for my bondmate."

"And yourself, I'm sure."

I wasn't any more interested in a booksellers than I was in an armory. I was going to go find Willa. She was an attractive rat. I made sure my fur was brushed.

* * *

The final chapter, My Date With A Rat, to follow shortly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Following in the footsteps of the goddess](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850003) by [rthstewart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/pseuds/rthstewart)




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